"No," interrupted Matt. "I didn't say that."
Margot Drake regarded the stocky black-haired palaeobotanist in perplexity. "What do you propose?"
"That your forces disarm and give themselves up."
Two bright spots began to burn in Margot Drake's cheek bones. "That's preposterous!"
Matt shrugged. The red-haired woman chewed her lip savagely. At length she asked, "What would happen to us then?"
"Nothing," Matt replied with a grin. "You would have to work, of course. But we're all going to do that—and take orders. Then you would have to be segregated, at least until we get the fort encased, the hydroponic gardens growing. But that's all."
"Segregated?"
"Yes. We could turn over a couple of floors to your girls. Put guards at the stairways and elevators. I ought to warn you that I'd give orders that any of them who are found off their floors should be shot on sight."
For a long tense moment the silence held.
"We haven't much choice," Margot said at length from between her teeth. "How can I contact my girls?"